


By Your Command

by ExaltedBrand



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Comfort, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Feelings, Fluff, Intimacy, Light Angst, Porn With Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Service, Wholesome Grima
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: Laevatein has always been most comfortable when following commands. Grima has always been most comfortable when issuing them.
Relationships: Gimurei | Grima/Laevatein
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	By Your Command

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing suggestion from [Dawn_Blossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom) and directly inspired by her Grima/Laevatein fics
> 
> I considered working from the ground up here to re-establish the relationship between these two – but frankly, I felt that her own Grimatein fics did such such a good job of introducing their dynamic that there wasn't any need to change something that already worked so well. So, if you enjoy this, please go and read her take on them as well!

Laevatein had always taken a sort of comfort in instructions. An order on the battlefield; a command to carry out; a word to guide her blade and mind. A weapon had no need for anything else. Free thought served no practical purpose. Emotions were confusing oddities that she’d neither learned nor needed to ever parse. And doubts – doubts were distractions from her duty. They dulled the edge of her blade; made her weak and worthless. Only instructions could be trusted to keep her focused. Only instructions kept her blade sharp.

Once, in Múspell, she had never found herself wanting for them. Through instruction, her father had honed her into a lethal weapon. He had instructed her to obey without hesitation, and he had instructed her to kill without hesitation. Those in Múspell who refused his commands would be executed. Under him, she should have learned to fear instructions; but they had brought order to her life, brought meaning to her world’s cruelty, and offered a path to survival. And they weren’t always fuelled by fear. Most weren’t, in fact; because Laegjarn—in her kind, gentle way—had also given her instructions. She’d instructed her to embrace her emotions, to speak freely when they were alone together, and to trust her with anything she needed. 

And she’d instructed her to live. To save herself from her father’s senseless bloodshed, and to defy his orders. Laegjarn’s final wish had been for her sister to have the freedom of choice – but in Laevatein’s eyes, it had been a choice between two commands. Live for her sister, or die for her father.

Instructions, she was discovering, were something she’d anchored her entire life around. But in Askr, where she’d offered her services to the Order of Heroes for the duration of Múspell’s reconstruction, there were precious few to follow. Every so often, she’d be tasked with a duty—nightly patrols, or cleaning, or assignments in the field—and she’d discharge them to the letter; but then with their completion—after a smile from Princess Sharena, a few words of gratitude from Prince Alfonse— the instructions would end, and she’d be left to aimlessly wander the halls on her own. Without guidance, without purpose.

Laegjarn, at least, was here in Askr. Alive for reasons Laevatein couldn’t understand, hadn’t tried to understand, and that she knew wouldn’t last forever. As if making up for the days ahead that they’d never be able to share, she spent almost every possible moment with her sister’s mirage. They’d visited the beach together, they’d attended the New Year’s festival together – and whenever the Order could afford to let them, they fought side by side together. But Laegjarn—as if also trying to make up for the days behind them—was reluctant to issue Laevatein even a single instruction when she could otherwise be persuaded to think for herself. On the beach, she’d asked Laevatein—Laevatein, who had always deferred to her sister’s judgement—to choose ice cream flavours for the two of them. At the festival, she’d let Laevatein lead the way, encouraging her to pick out the stalls and games that caught her interest. And in battle, she never gave commands; only taught Laevatein to evaluate the battlefield and to pick her own battles wisely.

It wasn’t that Laevatein didn’t appreciate her sister’s efforts, or didn’t understand what she was trying to accomplish. By the turn of the next year, or the year after that, Laegjarn would be gone again; and Laevatein, taking up her place as Múspell’s ruler, would have to make her own decisions. Some free thought, she conceded, was necessary.

Rather, she missed something about the old way of things. The simplicity of following orders, of knowing exactly how to act. A weapon didn’t choose where it struck, nor did it think or feel. It only did as it was told. As it was made to do.

For all the many heroes in Askr, there was only one person who understood. Not the summoner. Not Prince Alfonse, or Princess Sharena. Not even Laegjarn, who was the smartest person Laevatein knew.

No – this was an understanding born from experience. Someone, like her, who had been forged into a weapon from birth, who had been made less than human, who had never known free will beyond their intended purpose. Someone who now found themselves lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. Emotions that they couldn’t understand.

Laegjarn wanted Laevatein to be more than a weapon; and if that was what her sister wanted, then Laevatein was glad to comply. For all her resistance to change, and for as little as she was used to it, she didn’t dislike making her own choices or showing her own feelings. Such freedom, after all, had let her express such tender affection to her new, unlikely friend – and had helped her realise, for the first time, that emotions could be… enjoyable.

There were times when it all became too much, though. When the emotions exhausted her, when the affection confused her, when the freedom overwhelmed her. And in such times, she searched for a return to familiar comforts. She wanted, as she’d always been, to be guided. Commanded. To be given a single purpose, and to see it through to the end.

It wasn’t the healthiest habit. Laevatein knew this, just as she knew that Laegjarn would have lightly scolded her for not thinking for herself.

But there was no better place to indulge such habits—to work through them and come to terms with them—than in the company of someone who could understand exactly where they came from.

That was how Laevatein, tonight—in the darkness of her quarters, with the fireplace dying slowly and the moonlight only peeking through her curtains—found herself kneeling at the foot of her own bed – with her face hovering between Grima’s bare legs, patiently awaiting her instructions.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The voice cut through the silence, smooth and assured, and those blood red eyes glistened down at Laevatein, sharp and piercing and demanding. The Fell Dragon’s gloves ran through her hair—at Laevatein request, only Grima’s leggings had been removed, flung off into a forgotten corner—and she wound her fingers through the pink strands just gently enough to betray the softer feelings buried away beneath her expression.

Silently, Laevatein nodded. She hadn’t been ordered to speak, and so she wouldn’t.

“Good. Then I’m sure you understand what to do.” The princess could hear the smile on her lips, and Grima’s legs parted just a little wider. “Lick.”

The command was so short, so simple – only a single syllable. But it was all the guidance Laevatein needed. Without wasting a moment, she leaned forward and dipped her tongue into Grima’s folds, tasting her for the very first time.

A strange taste. Harsh and salty at first, almost choking, before quickly giving way to something light and sweet. Like the ice creams they’d had at the beach. When Laegjarn had gone off into the sea for a swim, Laevatein had slipped away to buy a third for Grima, lurking at the edge of the beach. It was one of the first times she’d seen Grima surprised – shedding her cold exterior for one of those emotions neither of them quite understood.

A good memory. But irrelevant, like the taste. All that mattered were her instructions.

And so, Laevatein focused on the task she’d been given. She focused on each lick, her tongue working in slow, methodical motions as it ran up and down Grima’s slit. She focused on the smells: the sweat and the heat, the heavy scent of Grima’s satisfaction. And she focused on the sounds of Grima’s voice, measuring her own performance with every gasp, every drawn-out moan, every soft noise of approval.

“Yes… Mm.” Grima’s grip tightened slightly in her hair, just softly enough to ease her forward and encourage her without overwhelming her. “Keep going.”

Laevatein obeyed. Obeyed gladly. She quickened her pace, servicing Grima with even greater enthusiasm – and when her mouth all but swallowed the rising heat between Grima’s legs and her tongue pushed deeper still, the dragon’s legs tightened around her head and urged her on.

Here—here, between Grima’s legs, at Grima’s command, striving for Grima’s satisfaction—Laevatein felt like she belonged. It was a place where she was useful. Where there were no difficult decisions, where there was no need to think. Grima issued commands; she followed them. A simple arrangement, but one she could be content with.

From the outside looking in—not that either Grima or Laevatein would have ever permitted someone to look in on their most intimate moments—it might have looked odd. Cruel, even. As if Grima was asserting her power over Laevatein; as if Laevatein was being made to comply; as if a god was twisting an unwilling mortal into her service.

But Laevatein had asked for this. In no uncertain terms. Grima had been taken aback by the boldness of her request; had even objected, at first, to treating her as a ‘lesser creature’ when she insisted that she was worth so much more. It was only as she came to understand Laevatein’s reasons—the safety she felt when following orders, the comfort she took in knowing precisely what to do—that she had accepted the arrangement.

Grima had dressed it up in her usual way: a ‘reward’ for Laevatein’s loyalty, a wish granted with no small amount of reluctance – and a suitably dry remark on just how incomprehensible humans could be.

Laevatein knew her better by now. Grima had agreed to this because she wanted Laevatein to feel safe and secure, no matter how unusual the means. And, if such a thing were possible for weapons like them, she also wanted Laevatein to feel happy.

Her efforts hadn’t gone to waste – because as Laevatein continued to lick—as every careful motion of her tongue sent warm liquid trickling down her lips, as every thrust made Grima shudder and squirm with restrained bliss, as every flick of Grima’s clit made the dragon’s breath hitch and catch in her throat—she felt something that might have been happiness.

Might have been. She hesitated on the thought because she couldn’t be sure. In the haze of heat and desire that grew by the second, it was difficult to tell. She felt a lot of things around Grima. A flood of thoughts, emotions, needs. More things than her father had ever conditioned her to feel, and more things than even Laegjarn’s kindness had taught her to feel. Some of them were comforting, reassuring. Some of them were confusing, contradictory.

But she liked all of them.

She liked the way her chest fluttered when she held Grima’s hand, or clutched Grima’s arm. She liked the way Grima would sometimes hold her close like a shield, scowling at anyone who dared disturb their comfortable privacy. And she liked, most of all, the way Grima could be baffled by a few words of affection, or an unexpected kiss – just as Laevatein could be left blushing and confused by the very same things. It reminded her that even a god could struggle with emotions.

In any case, Grima was struggling now. With a low whine edging towards a growl, her head tipped back and her muscles went rigid as her fingers clenched in Laevatein’s hair. Her whole body trembled, slick thighs squeezing the girl’s head in a vice-like grip; and Laevatein, encouraged by Grima’s reactions, worked with the same focus she brought to the battlefield, sucking and licking and kissing all at once.

“Y-you’re… quite good at this,” Grima managed. Her voice was still calm, still commanding, but she couldn’t hide her enjoyment – couldn’t hide the way her words broke off into satisfied sighs, or the way her breathing had grown more ragged and desperate and _needy_.

Needy. Grima needed her. Grima was relying on her. The feeling, like so many others stirred by Grima, sent an involuntary thrill though Laevatein’s heart.

How strange, she thought. She had spent her entire life needing instructions, needing orders, needing someone to command her. It had never once occurred to her before meeting Grima that someone could need her in return.

“It’s… It’s only to be expected, I suppose.” Grima’s hips had started to grind back and forth, relishing every moment of Laevatein’s attentions. “You’re my most loyal servant. My finest weapon. My— _ack_ …!”

Her words were cut short by a particularly eager thrust of Laevatein’s tongue, and all too quickly she fell back into incoherent pleasure, panting and moaning and clawing at Laevatein’s scalp – feverishly, but never furiously enough to risk hurting the girl serving her so well.

Certainly, Laevatein felt the desire to be instructed; to be given direction. That was why she had offered herself to Grima like this. But it was undeniable, now, that there was also something else driving her.

Grima had been good to her. She had comforted her, walked with her, given her days purpose. Purpose – even without any instructions. Laevatein had never thought such a thing possible.

Grima had been everything to her. She wanted to give something back. Anything.

For a long time, she hadn’t been sure how to express it. How to express herself. She had known Grima was kind, and beautiful, and strong. She had known that her thoughts of Grima stayed with her into the night, stirring a well of emotion she hadn’t known how to process. She had known that her loyalty to Grima was unquestionable.

And she had known, too, that Grima was lonely. That Grima—like any living creature, whether human or dragon or weapon—only wanted company and comfort.

 _This_ was Laevatein’s way, she’d decided, of expressing how she felt. Without the difficulty of words, without the risk of being misunderstood. Here, buried between Grima’s legs, she could tell the dragon that she liked her. That she was important to her. That she’d never have to be alone again.

She hadn’t been instructed to do so. She could have followed Grima’s orders, tending to her pleasure, and let that be the end of it. That much, by itself, would have made her happy. But she had decided—decided for herself, decided on no-one else’s authority—to do more. To put every last part of herself into this.

The more thoughts she had, the more she realised that her thoughts were instructions all of their own. Instructions from her to herself; needs to fulfil, desires to sate. People to cherish. The concept seemed illogical. But it also made her thoughts a little easier for Laevatein to come to terms with.

Perhaps Laegjarn would be pleased with her after all. She was following Grima’s instructions, yes, but she was also following her own. She _wanted_ to make Grima happy. She _wanted_ to show Grima her feelings, to hold her close, to indulge in her taste and her scent and the softness of her skin.

She had never known herself to want anything as much as she wanted this. 

As if to make real her desires—to show the dragon how much she wanted her—she left a little bit of herself wherever she went: at every peak and valley of Grima’s slit; in the hidden depths of her folds; along the curves of her thighs where bone met flesh and felt as warm and soft in her hands as a pillow. Her tongue lapped with devotion, pushing forward in a steady rhythm to coax Grima apart, to find every last spot; and she moved on instinct, letting those feelings she’d never managed to decipher guide her along – rising and falling, twisting and turning, slurping and swallowing.

There was an expression Laegjarn often used, so Laevatein recalled, when a single action fulfilled two instructions at once – to ‘kill two birds with one stone’. It had never made much sense to Laevatein why someone would use a weapon as inefficient as a stone when a bow or blade would have sufficed, but she wondered briefly if Laegjarn might have said the same thing here. Had she been privy.

It seemed fitting, somehow.

But now Laevatein could hear Grima’s voice growing louder and louder, could taste her fluids flowing more rapidly, could feel her body start to writhe uncontrollably under her touch – and she knew she was close.

“Yes,” Grima groaned, flushing a deep, heavy red that Laevatein knew she’d never acknowledge. “Very good, Laevatein. You understand how to… ah… h-how to… _oh_ …!”

She would never finish the sentence – because in that moment, Grima’s body tightened and tensed abruptly, letting out a high, uncharacteristic squeak of surprise.

At first, she seemed almost confused, as if she’d never experienced the sensation before. Then, as Laevatein’s tongue finally drew away in knowing anticipation, she broke loose. With a rough buck of her hips, Grima stiffened, her grip in Laevatein’s hair growing painful for a short, sharp moment, and she clenched her fists as the waves of ecstasy suddenly pulsed through her again and again, ever-growing and never-ending.

Laevatein’s tongue reached out to meet the sweet flood of juices, swallowing as much as she could and swirling it around her mouth. But even as the excess spilled out of her mouth and ran down her chin, she didn’t mind.

Grima was satisfied. Grima was sated.

Grima was… happy.

The thought held in Laevatein’s mind; made her feel light and foolish. And she was sure, now, that the emotion stirring in her heart was the very same kind of happiness.

* * *

“You may speak, Laevatein. This world is made less tolerable without your voice.”

Laevatein had never huddled with Grima in this way before. They had held each other close, and they had been intimate – but never wrapped up in a bed, never with only skin touching skin, and never with such warmth passed and shared between their bodies.

She decided that it wasn’t unpleasant. Nothing with Grima could be.

“I feel unusual,” Laevatein said. “Happy… I think.”

“I see.”

A pause, long and peaceful. Laevatein’s eyes met Grima’s – now a softer, pinker red in the strange aftermath of their passion.

Glad. Grima was glad. Even if she wouldn’t say it, Laevatein could tell.

“I reward those who are loyal to me,” Grima replied. “And for you, Laevatein—you, who have been so much more loyal than any of the useless worms before you—I will give whatever you desire.” Her voice held for a moment, as did her gaze. “Yes. Whatever you desire, whenever you desire it, and as much as you desire it…”

Laevatein nestled up against Grima, resting her head in her chest, and she felt the dragon’s fingers stroking her hair again. They were no longer clutching in desperation, or trembling with desire – but rather slow, tender. Filled with… love.

Love. Laevatein thought about the word.

Her father had taught her that love was a weakness. Love fostered compassion, and compassion brought hesitation. A weapon couldn’t hesitate, or show compassion, or feel love.

Her father, so Laegjarn had said, had been wrong about many things.

**Author's Note:**

> wholesome grima smut?? say it isn't so
> 
> If you enjoyed this story (and if you're interested in updates on my writing), feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ExaltedBrandAO3)! I'm more than happy to take requests for F/F rarepairs either here or on there into account for the future.


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